


Define ‘Human’

by Chordae



Category: Invader Zim
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Wherein Zim has a convincing disguise, like super duper divergence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-16
Updated: 2020-03-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:48:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22275886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chordae/pseuds/Chordae
Summary: There’s a new kid at skool, and Dib honestly couldn’t care less.
Comments: 15
Kudos: 103





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> this functions as a prologue of sorts because I just wanted to get it posted in order to motivate myself to actually continue writing it

The skool’s abuzz with rumours of a new kid.

Children pester and gossip with one another, and Dib can’t help catching the low conversation and debates on the new kid’s gender, name, and any other unimportant characteristics children find interesting.

Dib Membrane adjusts the strap of his backpack, keeping his head down and his eyes trained to the ground as he passes them.

_ It’s always the same _ , he thinks. His fellow students gossip and whisper now, but he knows that in a matter of minutes their excitement and unwarranted enthusiasm will die down and they’ll forget all about the new kid, jumping and digging their claws into the newest and most recent rumor.

With a world-weary sigh, Dib turns a corner and tromps down the hallway towards Ms. Bitters classroom.

As he nears the door, someone knocks into him, nearly sending him falling face-first onto the ground. He scoffs beneath his breath, side-eying his bumbling classmate from behind the lenses of his glasses.

He shoulders himself into the classroom, hands clenched tightly and white-knuckled around the straps of his backpack. 

He maneuvers around the group of students that swarms near the doorway, deftly slithering through the gap between classmates in order to make it to his desk.

He settles into his seat, slinging the handles of his backpack onto the back of his chair and digs out his notebook, pens, and pencils.

He couldn’t care less about the new kid, and it’s not like they’ll even be in his class. It’s not like they’ll even be friends. 

No, last Dib checked, he doesn’t  _ need  _ friends– in fact, he’s been better off  _ without  _ them. 

He wouldn’t be able to sleep soundly, he rationalizes. If he  _ did  _ have friends, he wouldn’t be able to rest with the thought of their lives being on the line due to his  _ incredibly _ dangerous line of work- he’s risking his own life investigating the paranormal by himself, and there’s no saying what could happen if he dragged others into it.

His point is that he doesn’t want friends.

(Whether that be in fear of their mortality or being rejected is debatable.)

Blinking away his exhaustion of another all-nighter, Dib blearily checks the time. Glancing over to the clock on the far wall, it reads ‘seven-fifty’, more or less. Making quick work of the math in his head, he figures he has a solid twenty minutes or so before the start of class.

He opens his notebook, flipping to the next empty page, briefly skimming his past notes as he does so.

  
Despite the fact that the school day hasn’t even started yet, Dib still yearns to be at home, preferably conducting important paranormal research of the highest caliber. In lieu of world-saving, life-altering research, he jots down his plans for tonight. Perhaps he could finalize the finishing touches on his interstellar radio? There’s so much more he’d rather be doing, but he’s stuck in school for the foreseeable future ( _ seven hours  _ is a long time- too long, in Dib’s opinion).

He spends quite a bit of time jotting down ideas for future inventions- excluding the audio receptors needing a tune-up on his radio in order to interpret messages from deep-space, there’s not much else he has to do in his free time.

He easily gets lost in his work, only shocked from his reverie when the bell rings loudly.

Kids sit at their desks, and a handful of his classmates swarm into the classroom before Ms. Bitters.

Whilst boredly gazing at the chalkboard, he catches sight of a wash of pink out of the corner of his eye. Attention somewhat caught, he glances over, noticing someone, presumably the new kid, trailing behind Ms. Bitters.

As everyone settles down and into their seats, whispers harshly hushed by students and teacher alike, the kid is lead to the front of the classroom.

Ms. Bitters, as bored and disdainful as ever, draws a grimace at the class as a whole.

“Class,” she begins, her gritty voice comparable to nails on a board, “I would like to introduce the newest,  _ hopeless _ appendage to the student body.” She vaguely gestures with a hand at the new kid. She squints at a paper clasped in her other hand, then readjusts her gaze. “His name is Zim Muhan. Zim, if you have something to say, say it now, because after this moment I don’t want to hear another sound from you.”

Dib lets himself take in the appearance of his new classmate. It’s not like he  _ cares _ or anything.

Zim’s fairly short, but that’s a given due to his age. He’s pale, but not unhealthily so. His hair is an unruly mess of black, lazily slicked back with errant flyaway strands strung about, and his eyes are a light blue, almost purplish looking due to the lighting and his pallor.

Despite the fact that it’s the middle of autumn, still warm outside pushing on  _ hot _ , Zim is garbed in a warm-looking turtleneck  _ and  _ an incredibly bright sweater vest.

In other words, his getup is garish, and Dib self-consciously adjusts the collar of his trench coat.

(Whoever told Zim how to dress clearly has a few screws loose, and definitely has no business  _ or _ authority to dictate one’s dress.)

Zim briefly tugs at the neck of his pink sweater, and Dib notices the  _ fingerless gloves _ . When was the last time he saw someone wear fingerless gloves?  _ Never?  _ They’re not even useful, they provide warmth only to the palms, and fingers are more likely to get frostbite without proper gloves. Plus, it’s the middle of August, and-

“Hello, friends!” Zim chitters, an unplaceable accent to his voice. “I am a  _ perfectly normal  _ human worm baby, such as yourself.”

-And that’s an incredibly peculiar thing to say, but before Dib can even think to speak up about it, Ms. Bitters sighs from behind Zim.

“Zim is from Spain, so  _ please _ don’t squabble about him not being fluent in English, unless you  _ want  _ in-school suspension for the rest of your foreseeable, short future.”

The class perks up at that, but quickly resumes their mindless staring, deep in the throes or boredom.

Dib feels his suspicion lessen, but he’s curious nonetheless.

“You have nothing, absolutely  _ nothing _ to fear from me. Just pay no attention to me and we'll get along just fine.” Zim explains with a toothy grin. The class doesn’t even pay attention, already bored with their loss of excitement of the new kid. He’s just another loon, is what Dib is sure they think, and there’s not even anything  _ weird  _ about him, other than his  _ fingerless gloves. _

Ms. Bitters looks on the cusp of sighing again, but points Zim towards the empty seat in the front row.

“Take your seat now, Zim.”

Dib watches Zim walk, arms outstretched and looking unnecessarily awkward. 

Zim, apparently immediately forgotten by everyone  _ except  _ Dib, doesn’t even pull out a  _ single _ thing from his backpack.

“Anyways, class. Today’s lecture is about space, and how it will eventually implode on itself.”

-Which, uh, **_no_** , that doesn’t-

Zim raises his hand, and Dib can’t help the spike in his lingering curiosity.

“ _ Yes _ , Zim?” Ms. Bitters bites out, seemingly a moment away from wringing Zim’s scrawny, little neck.

Zim crosses his legs beneath his desk, sitting criss-cross-applesauce atop his chair. He leans forward, his chin propped up on his hands, but his serious look betrays his excitable demeanor.

“Say, in the event of a full-scale apocalypse or alien invasion, how prepared would Earth’s defenses be?” He grins, then screams, “Tell me!”

Dib, peeved by the question and the  _ aggression _ , is also (admittedly) intrigued to what the answer could be. He adjusts his glasses as he leans forwards and waits for Ms. Bitters’ inevitable response.

Ms. Bitters merely glances at Zim and doesn’t even  _ respond _ , continuing to wax on with her explanation.

“As I was saying, the Earth is doomed! That doesn’t include the fact that-“ A (fingerless!) gloved hand shoots into the air, and she allows herself to sigh. “ _ Yes _ , Zim?” 

“So, speaking  _ hypothetically _ , what’s the likelihood that a human person could kill an Earth leader? What would happen if-“

“Zim, this is a talk about  _ space _ and our inevitable _ Doom _ . Please  _ shut _ your mouth before I forcibly remove you from the classroom.”

“I JUST WANT TO KNOW-“ 

Dib lowers his face to his desk and internally groans.

Zim’s shrieks and Ms. Bitters’ monotone yet threatening drawl plays as the backing to Dib’s distressed thoughts.

The new kid’s just some wannabe teacher’s pet, even if somewhat interesting. Nothing fascinating or vaguely paranormal is going to keep Dib interested or participating in class.

They’ve somehow returned back to the conversation of space and their inevitable mass-death, though Zim’s arm stubbornly (or ignorantly?) stays in the air during the entire lecture.

It’s going to be a  _ long _ day.


	2. The Friendship(?) Begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The new kid bombards Dib at lunch, and he can’t help but give in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> future chapters will be much longer, I’m just trying to get a posting schedule into place.

Class seems to drag on for an eternity, seconds blurring into minutes blurring into hours.

Dib is zoned out and scribbling in the margins of his lack-luster notes by the time the lunch bell rolls around.

The abrupt, ear-piercingly loud clang of the bell nearly sends Dib tumbling out of his chair. He gathers himself, subtly glancing about in an attempt to make sure no one saw his near-fall.

No one pays him mind, though, as everyone hurries to lunch.

Students and teachers alike scramble out of classrooms, a flood of the student body filling the halls in a raging torrent.

Dib takes his time, moving at his own pace as he meanders about to put his stuff away and into his backpack. The classroom nearly empties after a matter of seconds, save for a few stragglers or those who had napped away the entire lecture.

Dib drags his feet as he shuffles to the front of the classroom, paying no mind to his surroundings as he does so. He nears the doorway, ready to leave for lunch.

“Hey!” A nasally voice calls out, though he doubts it’s directed at him. “Stink-worm, wait!”

Dib, of course, does _not_ wait, for last he checked no one called out to him unless they wanted to harass him for homework or vainly attempt to shove him into his locker.

(Besides, bullies usually don’t get as... ‘ _creative_ ’ as ‘stink-worm’, so there’s absolutely no way the voice is calling to Dib.)

Apparently the voice _is_ calling for Dib, because before he can even cross the threshold of the doorway and into the hallway, a (fingerless!) gloved hand grabs his shoulder and yanks him backwards.

He coughs and splutters as the air is forcibly removed from his lungs as he’s yanked backwards.

With a flash of pain, he nearly collides with the wall, scrabbling to gain any semblance of balance.

Winded and pretty sure he just experienced whiplash, Dib rights himself and adjusts his glasses.

He’s about to snap something out, maybe even scare them away with talk of the paranormal, but he pauses at the sight before him.

Large, blue eyes bare into Dib. Zim’s (or was it Zam? No, it’s definitely Zim) hair matches his countenance, wild and unruly, also probably not-quite sane.

Dib drags in a deep breath, trying to regulate his erratic breathing. 

“What.” He squeaks out, then clears his throat. “What do you want?”

Zim, almost flabbergasted by the human’s _irk_ and rather gravity defying hair, opens and clothes his mouth like a beached fish. His jaw snaps shut with an audible click, and he nods, staring at Dib all the while.

“Where did all the meatsa- _humans_ go?” Zim asks, as if Dib hadn’t caught his slip-up. 

Dib assumes the kid is messing with him. It hasn’t even been an entire day since he’s transferred to the school and bullies already have him around their pinkie fingers. Dib, convinced Zim’s trying to bait him into something, responds sharply.

“Lunch.” He bites out. It earns him a weird look, curious verging on excited. A familiar expression he’s caught himself wearing when enthused over a particular invention. 

The same curiosity from before nips at Dib, and an almost genuine lapse of empathy directs him to help Zim. He is a new kid, after all.

“Look, the lunchroom is just down the hall, to the left, a sharp right turn, a fluid 160, walk forwards, turn right, then walk down the rest of the hallway and you should be in the lunchroom.”

(Just because he offered to give directions doesn’t mean he’d be particularly good at giving them.)

Zim blinks his unusually wide eyes once, then twice, his individual eyes blinking at different intervals, and slowly nods.

Dib, as satisfied as he can be with the response, turns on his heel and leaves the classroom.

He’s only about halfway to the lunchroom when he hears the not-so-subtle clicking of heels that function as an out of pace echo of his own. Assuming it to be the vengeful spirit of the corpse he’d dig up last Friday, he prepares himself.

(Admittedly, the ‘corpse’ had been his pet goldfish from three years ago, but that’s besides the point.)

He quickly spins around, drawing a pen out of his pocket and weighing it as a weapon.

He unsheathes the ball-point‘s cap, discarding the cap off to the side.

Zim barely flinches as Dib wields his uncapped ink-pen at him, and he stares intensely at the pen. After a beat, a toothy smile with a sinister edge breaks out across his face.

He opens his mouth to speak, no doubt more nonsensical lies in order to bait Dib into a trap, but Dib turns around and hurries towards the cafeteria.

Due to not having finished his interstellar radio last night, as he assumed he would, he’s been in a dour mood, exhausted and unwilling to socialize.

The echo of feet trailing along a ways behind him picks up once more as Dib continues his dreary haste.

Finally, he manages to reach the lunchroom. Ignoring the watching eyes of fellow students, he wades through crowds upon crowds of classmates with his head hung low. He all but collapses against his chair.

The rest of the table, as per usual, is empty. The loud chatter of a student-body conglomeration fills his ears. He peels off his backpack, glances at the length of the lunch line, then takes a moment to gather himself.

He briefly lies his forehead against the cool surface of the table, then stumbles as he quickly stands, his vision swimming as a flash of sleep-deprived vertigo hits him.

He walks to the lunch line, pointedly ignoring the glimpse of pink he catches out of the corner of his eye. He settles into the short line and waits.

Feet loudly shuffle behind him, excited and too-loud-to-be murmuring signifying the new kid’s arrival. 

Dib involuntarily catches line after line of a plotted, extraterrestrial invasion-usually, he’d be bouncing in place and excitedly probing Zim for answers on his own opinion on the matter. Paranoia runs high, and instead there’s a lingering interest that’s dimmed by the crushing exhaustion of the less than productive preceding night. Instead of his usual antics, he falsely chalks it up to Zim being a Spaniard.

An indeterminable amount of time passes, and suddenly Dib’s staring down at a tray of slop and gruel (isn’t it supposed to be pizza day?). He directs himself back to his table and takes his seat once more.

He’s barely had a second to relax when someone plops into the seat next to him. He’s shocked, but not surprised, to see Zim sit next to him with a lunch tray of his own. Zim watches him with his wide eyes, startlingly blue in the fluorescent lights of the cafeteria. He manages to pull his attention from Dib for a moment to poke at his gruel.

A pregnant pause and an uncomfortable lapse of silence later, Zim clears his throat. He looks like he’s about to speak, his body language tense and rigid, showing the niggling of a question he refrains from verbalizing.

“I’m Dib.” He introduces himself in order to get it over with. “Dib Membrane.” 

“Well–I, fellow stink-worm Dib, am Zim hu— _Muhan._ ” Zim stresses, the same eerie, toothy smile plastered on his face, though it quivers at the edges with uncertainty.

Dib makes a sound of acknowledgement, still wary of Zim and his intentions in having an _actual conversation_ with him (albeit rather one sided). He subtly side-eyes Zim, who stares at him like some sort of deranged puppy. 

Dib allows his curiosity to reign free from his suspicion. He scoops a bite of slop into his mouth and chews, thinking of what to say.

Before he can think of a decent question, Zim speaks.

“Why do only you sit at this table, Dib-worm?” Zim asks, still poking at his lunch.

Dib grimaces, whether it be at the question or due to the sudden crunchiness of his gruel is debatable. 

“I, uh. People don’t really believe in what I research and they don’t like to associate with me.” Dib says, truthfully, for if he is bait of some sort it isn’t like he already knows this.

Zim flutters his eyelids, which soon turns out to be just a weird twitch that persists for a bit too long.

“...Oh?” Zim voices, intrigued.

“Yeah, I– I’m really into the paranormal.” Dib says around his mouthful of food.

Zim mouths the word ‘paranormal’, obviously confused.

That, of course, also confuses Dib. He harshly swallows his meal in order to explain.

“The paranormal- like ghosts, Bigfoot, vampire bees-“ he seethes, “zombies, aliens-“ Zim jolts, “and all sorts of other things. You know, the usual. Or, well. The unusual.”

Zim looks as if his interest has been piqued, leaning forwards on his elbows as his lunch lies forgotten.

“What’s a ghost?” He asks, eyes wide.

“It’s… well, the most commonly known version of a ghost would be the malevolent spirit of dead humans. Ghosts are sort of like an afterimage of a person that persists after death, and clings to something from its former life in order to stick to this reality. More often than not, ghosts will haunt people or houses to spook them or something, I guess. Sometimes they’ll even attach theirselves to toys or dolls.” 

Zim blinks.

He suddenly jumps up from his seat, rearing back and shrieking at the top of his lungs.

For a moment it’s just indecipherable sounds, high pitched and somehow incredulous.

“WHAT?!” He shouts, drawing the attention from the rest of the cafeteria. “DEAD HUMANS _STICK_ **_AROUND?_** ” He sucks in a deep breath. “JUST TO _SCARE PEOPLE?_ DO YOU KNOW THE BENEFITS OF EXCEEDING MORTALITY? THE AMOUNT OF THINGS WE COULD _DO?”_ He flails a bit, then all but pounces back into his seat. “ _Tell me more, Dib-worm.”_ He growls out, voice a few octaves too high for it to be terrifying.

Dib, uncaring of the watchful eyes of the rest of the cafeteria, can’t help the laugh that bubbles up, pure mirth and surprise.

“Sure.” Dib agrees, settling into place.   
  
“What is... you mentioned a zohmmbi?” Zim fumbles with the pronunciation.

”Zombie.” Dib corrects. “Basically, mindless, flesh-eating humans that turns other humans into their own kind.”

Zim looks as if someone has reached in and squeezed his heart and lungs, the color draining from his face and all air flushed from his lungs.

”There’s a subspecies of human that eats humans? Cannibalism isn’t unheard of, but serially murderous? Why didn’t- why didn’t they-“ Zim murmurs, actually _murmurs_ , beneath his breath. He perks back up after a solemn moment, then nods. “Tell me more, Stink-worm Dib.”

”Okay, so...”

Both of their trays of slimy food lie forgotten as Dib waxes over-dramatic tales of semi-truthful paranormal investigations over the course of lunch.

He might’ve made a... friend?

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ll have an actual upload schedule soon (hopefully)


	3. An Alien Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Humans are weird. Dangerous, but weird.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a small little insert of Zim’s perspective after the skoolday. These first three chapters (and the next one) function as a introduction of sort, so chapters from here on out should be a lot longer with more depth to them (if not, you can shoot me).
> 
> A drawing I did of Zimbo:
> 
> <https://chordueue.tumblr.com/post/190325232841/slopee-zimothy>  
> 

_Human culture is interesting_ , Zim concedes. Dangerous and, admittedly, _terrifying,_ but interesting nonetheless _._

The day certainly has been insightful, that’s for sure. He's learned some things that push his plans back a bit, but that’s besides the fact of the matter. He’ll just have to consult his tallest once he reaches his base.

He all but frolics down the street, his usual wavering grin replaced with a look of fascination as Dib continues to tell tales of the ‘paranormal’.

-And what an interesting thing that is.

From what Zim’s gathered, barely any humans study the paranormal! Dib-worm has an incredible grasp of it, or, at least, that’s what he gathered from the way he waxes and wanes horrifying stories of flesh-eating, blood-sucking, _life-stealing_ creatures.

The paranormal should be something feared, and for a good reason. 

(Zim already knew _he_ should be feared- he didn’t need Dib’s half-hour explanation on the ‘unknown power of aliens’. Zim feels about as in the ‘unknown’ as he can get- he was barely even briefed, and for a planet that has things as dangerous as the _paranormal_ , you’d think he would get a heads-up.)

The strange thing that Zim can’t help but wonder is _why_ the other human larvae (and even mature ones as well!) choose to ignore the existence of the paranormal. He originally assumed it to be a ‘secret mission’ held out by a select few of humans, perhaps the tallest of them? Though that wouldn’t make sense, for Dib is barely a hair-width taller than Zim, and Zim has seen many tall humans today. Dib tries to explain the human nature of ignoring the unknown. 

Dib explains that it’s because of a common Earth saying, ‘Ignorance is bliss’, that humans ignore the supernatural.

Zim finds that he agrees. Would it have been better for him to not find out about the paranormal? Yes, the stress of his mission would be less, but he also wouldn’t be privy to the world of monsters that could kill him the deeper he got into his mission.

Interestingly enough, a majority of the streets taken to get to Zim’s ‘house’ is similar to Dib’s. They pace the sidewalks together, Dib rambling on and on about the paranormal with a fervor Zim has never seen in anyone but himself, and Zim listening with rapt attention, nodding along and asking questions where he deems it fit.

Zim can’t help the ebb of excitement that overcomes him as he heads ‘home’, the Dib-worm still freely giving up information about anything and everything paranormal.

Zim’s plan is simple; the Dib-worm seems to be incredibly knowledgeable of the paranormal, and all other human persons that he’s seen have actively _ignored_ Dib-worm. He will use the larvae’s knowledge and weaponize the ‘paranormal creatures’ that he rants about in order to overtake planet Urth for all Irken kind.

It has to be a gradual process, though. He must first take in all information provided to him by the Dib-worm, find more information in his own time, and _wait_. Only when he has so much knowledge will he be able to act out against Urth as a whole.

For now, he grins and nods along, his elation only somewhat faux.

“-and that’s why I’m pretty sure there’s a gremlin living in the school’s boiler room. I mean, how much more suspicious can it _get_? It makes sense when you consider the fact that the faculty has been deflecting any and all of my questions on the boiler room, but- Oh, I turn here.” Dib cuts his own rant short, then points at a house across the way.

They both stand in silence for a moment, then Zim nods.

The sooner he gets back to base, the sooner he can start his research full-swing.

“Yes, of course. See you tomorrow at the skool, Dib-worm.” Zim nods, arms crossed behind his back as he straightens his posture. He raises his chin in the air and nods.

Dib glances around as if confused.

“It’s uh, it’s Friday.” 

Zim blinks, bewildered. Human culture _is_ weird.

“Oh, but you told me… Well, in that case, see you tomorrow at skool, Friday.” Zim amends.

“No, no. Uh, here in America we don’t go to school over the weekend.” Zim doesn’t know what an ‘ _America’_ is, let alone a ‘weekend’.

“...So your name _is_ Dib?” 

“Yes, Zim.” 

“See you… later, Dib-worm.”

“Uh, you too.” Dib gives a wave of his hand as he turns to walk towards his base.

Zim, determined to fill his mind with plenty of Urthly-data, scurries home.

He tries to not draw attention to himself as he walks down the streets, staring back at those who stare for too long.

He stomps around the cul-de-sac, something that Dib had explained was a term in a different human language (Urth has different, indigenous, languages?) used to describe neighborhoods.

Ruminating over the abundance of information he had received throughout the day, Zim allows his raging thoughts to run amuck during his traveling.

Finally, he arrives, weaving around his lawn-sentries in order to enter.

The moment he opens the door, G.I.R barks at him, a noise so deep and loud it rattles Zim’s vertebrae.

He yips and yelps at Zim in greeting, a flurry of golden fur and slobbery-kisses as he tackles Zim to the floor.

“G.I.R!” Zim shrieks from beneath the large robot-turned-dog. “Get- off-“ he struggles, wiggling around beneath him, “-of me, you insolent _fool!_ ” He aims a well-directed kick with his heeled boot at G.I.R’s hind leg. It’s not enough to hurt him ( _blast this useless human body)_ , but to simply nudge him off. G.I.R whines, nonetheless, and clambers off of Zim, his claws loudly clicking against the floor.

G.I.R keeps his head hung low, then sniffs. He sniffs a bit more. His momentary lapse of unhappiness is quickly forgotten as his attention is caught and he leaps on top of the couch, nosing himself into an open bag of chips.

Zim heaves a sigh at the sight of crumbs falling into the couch’s cushions, but shakes it off. He has more impersonation things to do.

The television plays ‘cartoons’, the loud noises and bright lights playing as the background of Zim’s thoughts.

With a decisive nod, he deactivates his disguise, the familiar sight of his PAK almost calming.

”COMPUTER!” He shrieks, one hand raised high in the air. “CALL MY TALLEST, FOR I WISH TO INFORM THEM OF TODAY’S URTHLY ESCAPADES!”

The computer grumbles something, then obliges. The line sits open for a few minutes before the finally pick up.

The Tallest open their mouths simultaneously, perhaps to congratulate Zim on his first day of his undercover mission, but Zim easily speaks over them.

”My Tallest,” he greets with a bow he holds for a bit too long.

”Zim-“

Zim looks up from his bow, head positioned at an awkward angle in a vain attempt to look both of his Tallest in the eyes at once.

”I have found out about the ‘Paranormal’ on Urth.” Zim explains. The Tallest simply stare at him, not egging him on but not _not_ egging him on, either.

(His assumption is incorrect, for the Tallest want nothing to do with the tiny Irken.)

”If I can, may I ask why you didn’t tell me about it? The paranormal is something incredibly dangerous, and it’s indigenous to Urth. In fact, if you had sent anyone besides myself, they would be dead already.” He thinks on it a moment. “Though, I suppose it makes sense that you would send me. I am, after all, the most capable.”

Zim nods to himself, telling himself things the Tallest hadn’t even thought of lying to him about.

”Thank you for this opportunity, my Tallest. Invader Zim, signing out.” He quickly ends the call with a salute.

(He will fail to realize that he hadn’t let the Tallest get a word in edgewise, and will convince himself that they agreed with everything he had spoken of.)

He spins away from the screen, then angles his head towards the ceiling.

“COMPUTER!” He shrieks, arms pressed against his sides and hands clenched into fists. “TELL ME EVERYTHING YOU KNOW ABOUT THE ‘PARANORMAL’.”

The computer heaves a computer-generated sigh of its own, murmurs to itself, then filters through hours upon hours of paranormal, supernatural, and all-around _unusual_ information.

It’s, for lack of a better term, an _incredibly long_ weekend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zimothy is such a fun character to write. Also hard. He’s a really hard character to write.  
> You best believe that Zim is going to be a raging conspiracy theorist, and Dib is going to fully support him. They’re both going to do a multitude of paranormal investigations in chapters yet to come, and Zim will learn to be a more convincing ‘human’.


	4. A Human Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s Dib’s last night of a (kind of) normal life- unfortunately, he’s not aware of this fact.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that I haven’t updated in forever! My creativity has been running thin as of late, and my writing has been less than acceptable. This chapter’s a bit short, but it’s mostly to help me get back into the swing of writing and posting things. Thank you and sorry if you’ve stuck around!

“I’m home!” Dib shouts into the empty house. He’s greeted with a resounding silence in response.

After a few prolonged seconds of knowingly waiting for nothing, he shuffles his way to the living room with his backpack in tow.

The living room is completely dark, save for the blaringly brights colors of the television, and basically uninhabited, save for his statue of a sister on the couch. 

“Hey, Gaz.” He greets his sister with a lame wave as he walks past her, careful not to cross in front of the screen. 

Gaz doesn’t even grace him with a glance and instead grunts a greeting, enraptured with the television as she aggressively clicks away at buttons. She’s hunched over and leaning forward, and she’s so still that Dib’s convinced she isn’t even _breathing._

Dib sits on the couch a reasonable (and  _ safe _ ) distance away from her. He sighs.

“Is dad not coming home for the weekend again?” He asks, although it’s unbearably easy to draw a conclusion. Gaz gives a noncommittal grunt, and suddenly she’s tapping buttons just miliseconds short of being humanly impossible. 

He clears his throat, then settles his backpack onto the couch between him and his sister.

(Whether as a buffer or a safety barrier, he’s unsure.)

“I- I, uh, made an acquaintance today.” He tries to start, though he knows it’s useless. “The new kid- although you probably don’t know him. His name’s Zim Muhan and he’s apparently super interested in the paranormal without knowing a thing about it? It’s kind of weird, and-” He cuts himself off and gives up, knowing Gaz is far too interested in her game. 

Dib, albeit unwilling to admit it, wishes he had maybe walked a bit slower home or maybe even wishes he had asked Zim if he wanted to come over. 

(Not like Dib’s dad could disagree to having friends spend the night when he wasn’t even home more than once a week.) 

Stuck in his thoughts, he doesn’t notice Gaz squinting up at him. 

“ _ You _ made a friend?” She says, going for a bored drawl but she can’t keep the disbelief and surprise out of her tone.

“I wouldn’t say _friend_ -”

Gaz hesitantly gestures for him to sit back down, and although it’s not actually asked for, he tells his sister about his whirlwind of a day.

It’s going to be a long weekend, he realizes, mid-way through his recollection, as Gaz raises her fist and threatens her game console with bodily harm. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the last of my ‘intro’ chapters- I think I’ve got a general idea of where I want this to go, so from here on out the layers will be longer and more in depth (maybe each will be based off of an original episode of the show and then I’ll throw some new things in as well)

**Author's Note:**

> I’m not the best with character voices or dialogue, so this fic is meant for me to build on that. For only this chapter I used dialogue directly from the script (some of it was slightly adjusted)  
> This story is me trying to characterize the original cartoon’s characters, but making them more realistic or believable as an actual person whilst still keeping their charm.  
> In other words, big canon divergence, and the characters could be considered OOC.  
> haha sorry that you willingly read this shwoops


End file.
